Dinner for Five It's dinner. Really…

Dinner for Five It's dinner. Really nice chow. Yet the guests (tonight's A-list diners include Katie Holmes and Sean Hayes) never talk about the food. That worries me.

Yes, Dear Greg and Jimmy turn Speed Dating sessions into a competition to see who could, possibly, maybe, if they weren't both very married, get the most "yes" votes from single women. Married men using singles functions for ego-boosting sport. Riiiight. Now even lame CBS shows are making fun of the reality that is my life. Thanks.

Eve Now we know what J. Lo's ex Cris Judd is doing  moonlighting as a salsa teacher on Eve.

Girlfriends Brock offered to drop his highest profile client for Joan. (Oh... That's so sweet.) Ellis took only one night to get over Joan. Damn. That's ridiculously unbelievable. And terribly convenient. I mean, the woman just told him she's in love with the business equivalent of his best friend and he basically says, "OK"? No. That doesn't work for me. I need for Ellis to be wounded and to get just a little ghetto. Hold a grudge. Put sugar in Joan's tank. Sue her. Something!

Two and a Half Men Duckie!!!!!! And, yes, I cheer when Jon Cryer's name pops up on-screen... But then I see the man he's become  all anal, and conservative, the type of whipped manservant who says, "The peanut butter stains on Jake's shirt really require an enzyme pre-soak"  and I cry. Poor Duckie. Andie left you a broken man.

Las Vegas I knew from the moment Danny saw Nessa meeting with the card marker that she was working some kind of sting operation. Yet I watched anyway. Why? Because  and, Lord help me 'cause I'm really this shallow  Josh Duhamel is hot. The Montecito Casino security team could find a sinner in a busload of saints. And I've got a problem, people. If my friends really loved me, they'd do an '80s-style just-say-no-to-TV intervention.

CSI: Miami Mommy, Horatio's scaring me again! Honestly. That opening scene where David Caruso peeks into the dryer and says, "Molly, do you know where your sister is?"... I got chills. And not the good kind. IknowIknowIknow. Every week I complain about how Horatio "I'm the Fiber King" Caine creeps me out. Yet every week I keep coming back. I can't help it. It's a sickness.

And I blame the show, man. For real. I mean, how could I not watch? Last night's episode had 15 registered sex offenders in a 10 block radius. Crazy tennis parents. A rich kidnapped girl. A poor missing girl. A random severed arm. Oh, and 3,000 low-jacked crocodiles summering near a nuclear power plant. They had to call in Jeff Corwin for that one. And the only downside was that they brought in Jeff as sexy Eric Delko's fraternity brother. (Right. What was that pledge class like?) And I know I might burn for this, but... why are TV perverts such great photographers? The pictures CSI: Miami's skeevey perp (a word I love to work into casual conversation) took of the neighborboy were really good. The kid was frolicking in the sprinklers. He captured the happy moment. I know that's wrong to say. But he did.

The Wade Robson Project OK. So me and Wade got back together. But just for finals. 'Cause, I mean, I had to see who would win. And boy am I glad I came back. Wade's Michael Jackson tributes, his "original productions"  especially the one where he rose out of the floor with the smoke and the lights and wind  plus JC Chasez's needlessly naughty dance routines... they were all over the top! Ovah! For real. They took it to a new level of melodramatic, if-I-don't-have-dance-I-don't-have-anything brilliance. MTV should do more TV like this. Oh, by the way, Tyler Banks, the wannabe 'N Sync-er from Independence, Mo., won. But I don't want to dwell on that because I was pulling for switch kickin' Twitch or catwalk queen Michelle.